Draco Malfoy's SuperSweet Sixteen
by pipistrelle
Summary: Wizards don't usually celebrate sixteenth birthdays, but Draco Malfoy could never resist a chance to show off. Little did he know that this would be the day he truly entered the adult world: the day he became a Death Eater.


_You are cordially invited…to meet the bastard love-child of J.K. Rowling's brilliant Harry Potter series (of course) and MTV's fabulous trash TV fix My SuperSweet Sixteen, neither of which I own or have anything to do with. Unfortunately._

**Draco Malfoy's SuperSweet Sixteen**

_Gonna spread my wings_

_Sweet Sixteen_

_It's my chance to shine_

_Sweet Sixteen_

_Discovering_

_Sweet Sixteen_

_So much more to life_

_Sweet Sixteen. _

Exactly one hour before the guests were officially due to arrive, Draco Malfoy gazed proudly across the lavishly decorated foyer of the family mansion. The grand staircase, portraits and chandeliers had all been festooned with purple, silver and green streamers, and fairies sparkled from every level surface. A team of leprechauns flew about practicing their formations, spelling out, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY DRACO" and then splitting apart and diving into two perfect Vs. It was true that wizards in general did not particularly celebrate sixteenth birthdays, but Draco could never resist an opportunity to display his family's wealth and general superiority. A further incentive was that he strongly suspected that birthday gifts would tail off sharply as soon as he came of age next year. It was therefore made clear on the bat-winged invitations, which had fluttered about the Slytherin dungeons on his actual birthday in April, that a present would be expected. It was now the summer holiday and much had changed since the invitations had been given out, but his family's humiliation after the incident at the Ministry had only made Draco more determined to throw a party that would make him the envy of his housemates.

All of the Slytherins from Draco's year had been invited, except for Millicent Bulstrode, who was not, as Pansy had uncovered last summer, the pure-blood she had always masqueraded as, but had a muggleborn mother. Draco reflected with quiet satisfaction that his girlfriend's detective work had been most worthwhile; his party was not open to just anyone. Draco also knew quite a few people from the other years through Quidditch, and so most of the sixth and seventh years had secured invitations through connections to various team members. Vaisey from the year below had had to be invited too, of course, although he was not permitted to bring friends, as Draco felt that the presence of too many younger people would not give the party the tone he wanted. To ensure that jealous types who had not received an invitation could not sneak in, the largest pair of security trolls available for private hire now stood at the gatehouse of the manor.

These trolls were loudly admired by Crabbe and Goyle when they arrived a few hours before everyone else except Theodore Nott, who had been staying with the Malfoys since the beginning of the holidays. Draco had not been terribly happy about this arrangement, but after the disastrous events in the Department of Mysteries had left Nott practically an orphan, Draco's mother had offered "that poor boy" a place to stay in their mansion before he could object. It was true that Theodore did not disrupt Draco's home life much, choosing to keep to himself most of the time, but Draco always felt a little out of his depth in Theodore's company. Their conversations made him feel horribly ignorant, which was a sensation both novel and unpleasant. Draco did not know how much longer he could continue to fend off Theodore's more searching questions with a shrug or some non-committal noise. He could scarcely suppress his sense of rising dread as OWL results day drew nearer, as however well he did, he knew that Theodore would have much better results than his. His only consolation was that this might be more easily concealed from his mother now than in the days before his father's arrest. Though she presented a face of icy composure to the rest of the wizarding world, when back at the Malfoy manor Draco had heard his mother break down sobbing for hours on end, and he now needed to remind her many times when she had to go out somewhere.

Crabbe and Goyle's arrival had in fact been most welcome, in fact. Theodore had been attempting to revive last night's discussion about curses in which Draco's mother had become very involved, but which Draco himself had been almost unable to understand. Not willing to admit this, he was barely able to conceal his relief when he caught sight of his two closest friends, weighed down by enormous and extravagantly wrapped boxes, through one of the large front windows. The four boys had stood awkwardly for a few minutes exchanging pleasantries about Quidditch, the weather, and the Death Eaters' activities, Theodore growing more and more uncomfortable until he finally muttered some excuse about making sure the house elves were working properly, and wandered off in the direction of the kitchens. Theodore had never had good banter.

Not long after this Pansy had shown up, carefully made up and resplendent in silvery satin dress robes. She noticed straight away what the boys had not: Draco's new black velvet robes with bright silver frogging, made especially for the party by a goblin seamstress who did not usually consent to work for wizards. Smiling, Draco took his guests down to the cellar, where the drinks purchased especially for the party were being stored. The many cases of butterbeer, mulled mead, and Firewhisky Fizzers in the preferred orange, pumpkin and pineapple flavours represented one upside to his father's imprisonment, as Draco was sure that neither his father nor his mother in her usual state of mind would have permitted quite this much alcohol. Crabbe and Goyle looked suitably impressed, and each helped themselves to a bottle of mead, while Pansy affected a charming inability to remove the cork from her pumpkin Firewhisky Fizzer. Draco carefully removed the cork and presented the bottle to her with a flourish, receiving a kiss for his efforts. He then carefully ran through the plans for the evening, and what he needed each of them to do to make sure that everything ran smoothly. Of course, there would be house elves taking care of the food and drink and cleaning up, but he needed his friends to line everybody up in preparation for his entrance and later the cutting of the cake and proclaim loudly how much everything had cost. After running through the schedule (it took Crabbe and Goyle a while to remember all the details) there was just time for Draco to check his reflection in the hall mirror and head out to the marquee in the cobbled yard behind the manor, where he would wait until Pansy told him, by magic mirror, that enough people had arrived for him to make his entrance.

Nearly an hour after the time indicated on the invitations, Pansy finally deemed the mansion full enough for the party to properly begin. Draco climbed into the small black carriage pulled by a sleek grey Granian winged horse, which trotted around the yard excitedly, reined in by a driver in a crisp purple uniform. Once a house elf had opened the cast iron gates, it sprang into a full gallop and took off, soaring into the overcast yet fortunately dry summer evening. From the carriage Draco could see a few people emerging from the manor, and commanded the driver to circle around until a sizeable crowd had built up. At last he heard the band beginning to play and signalled to the driver to bring the carriage down. They landed smoothly on the sweeping lawn in front of the manor, and a footman in a uniform identical to the driver's jumped from the back of the carriage and opened the door. Draco stepped out to whoops and applause (led by Pansy) from his friends and well-wishers, who stood lining his path up to the manor. A purple carpet unfurled itself across the lawn, all the way up to the door, so that Draco wouldn't have to tread on the grass, and he swaggered its length, before finally turning at the manor's entrance to look back at the crowd.

"PARTY TIME!" he screamed.

Silver stars burst from the ceiling and swirled downwards like snow. At once his friends all streamed towards him, all clamouring for his attention, all wanting to shake his hand or have him open their present.

"Come in, come in," he said. "The house elves will get your drinks. Presents over there, please."

* * *

Draco was thoroughly enjoying being the centre of attention. People kept coming up to him to pat him on the back or wish him a happy birthday. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that the present pile was growing splendidly. House elves circulated with silver trays of hors d'oeuvres, which the girls studiously ignored under Pansy's watchful eye, despite the enticing aroma of the pumpkin mini quiches and cocktail newts on sticks. This was real wizard food, Draco thought. _Expensive _wizard food, thoughtfully chosen by someone in the know. Just imagine the muck Weasley would have served at a gathering like this! But then this party surely cost more than Weasley's father would earn over a decade.

Draco caught sight of Montague, the former Quidditch captain, in dress robes cut to emphasise his muscular physique. Making his way past acting Quidditch captain Pucey, who was eying Montague rather warily, Draco headed over to greet him. He had not seen Montague since he had been removed to St. Mungo's after getting stuck in that toilet, but he looked entirely well now, and was delighting in recounting the story to the small crowd that had gathered around him.

"…so then those horrid Weasley brats, showing typical Gryffindor bravery, I might add, both grab me and start dragging me off. Of course, I was thrashing around and nearly threw them off, but they just managed to shove me into this cabinet thingy…"

"You were stuck in a cabinet all that time?" asked Blaise Zabini, rather scathingly.

"It wasn't just any cabinet, it was a Vanishing Cabinet!"

"I know that," Zabini said coldly, "My mother has a pair and they are exceptionally easy to use."

"Well this one must've been broken because I got stuck. Couldn't get out either end. I could hear people talking in the corridors at Hogwarts between classes sometimes, and other times there were…shop noises. I'm fairly sure the other cabinet's in Borgin and Burke's, I recognized Borgin's voice. I tried yelling out for help, but he couldn't hear me, and nor could anyone at school."

"So how did you escape?" Daphne Greengrass asked breathlessly.

"Apparated. 'Course that's supposed to be impossible, Apparating into Hogwarts, and I hadn't even passed my test, but I did it."

"You did end up head first in a lavatory, though," Zabini pointed out rather snidely. At this several people rounded on him.

"He could have died!"

"Like you could have done better!"

"He did the impossible!"

"Those Weasley twins weren't even punished!"

Montague smiled around at his admirers, and then spoke pointedly to Zabini. "True. I did end up in a lavatory. And yes, the Apparition did take a lot out of me. But by all rights, I shouldn't be here. And yet, here I am. Who wants to go get me a drink?"

This was met with several enthusiastic offers, but it was Daphne who, having received Montague's nod of approval, rushed breathlessly to the cellar for a pint bottle of Madam Rosmerta's finest mulled mead. Draco took this as his opportunity to enter the conversation.

"Montague! How do you do?"

"Great party, Malfoy. I haven't told you about my little adventure have I?"

"I think I know the-"

"It all started when I was taking some Gryffindor house points from those ghastly Weasley twins…" There was no stopping Montague, who would clearly never get tired of retelling this story, each time casting himself in an increasingly heroic light. Draco took a deep draught of butterbeer, preparing to nod and look concerned and impressed in all the right places.

* * *

Yes, thought Draco, having finally escaped Montague, the party was going splendidly. The only trouble was going to be finding something to top this for next year. A dragon tamer, maybe, or a troll ballet troupe. Draco had no idea how much either of these would cost, or whether these acts even existed, but he was certain that he deserved no less for his coming of age extravaganza. And as sure as he would break out of Azkaban and _show_ Potter what the Malfoys were made of, Draco's father would ensure that next year's party wanted for nothing. He might even book the Weird Sisters as a surprise. Draco's father had connections.

Draco strode around the foyer and ballroom arm in arm with Pansy, mentally mapping out where he would put the performing dragons and pirouetting trolls to still leave room for a nine piece rock band. Pansy was radiant. Draco had never seen her more beautiful than she was now, flushed with pride at being queen of the evening. Her pure blood was evident in her every action, her gestures, her proud bearing, he thought admiringly. It _is _true that Slytherins carry themselves differently. They walked up the stairs to the balcony, where they could observe the party in full swing.

"Impressed?" said Draco.

"Of course, darling. But then I expected nothing less." Pansy stroked his cheek and fiercely kissed his lips. But before he could respond in kind, she interrupted.

"When were you planning on cutting the cake, Draco?" she asked.

"Oh…I don't know,"

"You should do it soon," said Pansy. "Or people are going to wander off and we won't be able to find them all."

"I suppose, but I was planning on changing into my other robes for it."

"Other robes?"

"Yeah, I'll be right back," Draco said.

"I'll be waiting," Pansy winked mischievously. "We needn't go down to the kitchen right away…"

In his room, which was at the far end of the Manor's eastern wing, Draco quickly stepped into the emerald silk robes laid carefully on the bed, hurriedly fastening their onyx buttons. He stopped to admire himself in his handsome mahogany framed mirror. Not too bad, he thought. They were showy robes, expensive, and clearly not the kind of thing one would wear every day. Not every wizard could wear these robes and look good in them, but Draco felt that he had the style and the attitude to carry them off: he was an iconoclast. Yes, they were wonderful robes, robes that would mark him out even among the elite circle in which he moved. Draco stood in front of the mirror trying to look regal and composed. He sometimes liked to think of himself as the Prince of Slytherin, and these were the sort of robes that such a person might wear. So much more dignified, Draco thought, to be the most respected member of Slytherin house than The Boy Who Lived, the rag tag hero of those too feeble to take care of themselves. With a grimace he thought about his last exchange with Potter on the Hogwarts Express. It had taken Theodore the five hours remaining of the journey to London to remove all the hexes and their resulting tentacles and slime, but that was nothing compared to the humiliating realization that he had been knocked unconscious and disfigured by pathetic Potter and his army of Hufflepuffs. He scowled at the mirror. Potter just doesn't know who he's dealing with, he thought, his features set in a steely masculine glare. Potter'd better watch out, because I won't go easy on him next time.

"You look simply adorable, dear." said his mirror, fondly.

"Shut up," he told the mirror.

His mood spoiled, he stamped out of the room and slammed the door. A brief visit to the bathroom, whose mirror wisely flattered his sense of Slytherin pride, restored his spirits. Whistling, he made his way back down the corridor, ready to rejoin the party. Without warning, an arm grabbed him and pulled him behind a tapestry.

* * *

Draco turned around, grinning, expecting to see Pansy waiting for him in the darkness, but instead received a nasty shock when he recognized his Aunt Bellatrix. He had never told anyone this, but Aunt Bellatrix made him feel slightly uncomfortable. They had only met a couple of times, as she usually stayed away from the her sister's family; being trailed by Aurors was a constant fear for her, and the Malfoy manor was one of the more obvious places for them to watch. Of all the times she could have chosen, he couldn't believe that she'd shown up now, at a moment so critical to his social success.

"What are you doing here?" he hissed. "Can you not see that I am in the middle of throwing the party of the year, and that having a wanted fugitive here is not perhaps advisable?"

"Draco, this is important," Aunt Bellatrix said, her eyes shining.

"Not that it isn't a pleasure to see you…it is, as always. It's just all my friends are here and nothing can go wrong or…"

"Draco, Draco, how can you be so preoccupied with these childish diversions? Come with me. The Dark Lord will give you all that you, as a young man of good family, deserve: glory, fame, knowledge, power, and, most importantly, the chance to prove yourself."

Draco stared. "Come with you? You mean now?"

"Yes. He is ready for you."

Draco felt a panic rise up in his chest. The Dark Lord? Ready for him? He had imagined this day for so long, since his first day at Hogwarts in fact. However, in these fantasies he was older, different. In many ways Draco felt that he had scarcely changed from the boy who had arrived at Hogwarts to find that it was not he who was the most celebrated and admired person in his year, but Harry Potter. He had no idea what to say, but registering his Aunt Belltrix's proud, indulgent expression, he sensed that "No." was not going to be acceptable.

"It is all right to be afraid, Draco. The Dark Lord is the most gifted wizard who has ever existed. It is right that he inspires fear and awe. Do not be ashamed: he will sense that you comprehend his power."

Draco eyed her for a moment, then , trying as far as was possible to keep his voice steady said, "And what does he want with me, the Dark Lord? I am only sixteen, and while of course I support his honourable cause, what could I do that could possibly help him?"

"I do not know what the Dark Lord will ask of you. But you need not worry about your youth and incomplete education. These things are of little importance compared with the loyalty and devotion that I know you will show him. The Dark Lord sees your potential; he would not ask you to join him if he did not."

Aunt Bellatrix let him contemplate this for a few moments in silence, then said, "We must go. I know you can't Apparate yet, so you'll have to come with me. Come on."

"I can't go now!" Draco had finally managed to overcome some of his shock at the absurdity of the situation, "I'm having a party! Do you not think someone might notice if the host goes missing?"

"What does it matter if a few drunken teenagers can't find you for a while?" said Aunt Bellatrix, impatiently. "When you come back, you'll actually have a reason to celebrate."

"But…"

"I must insist: He is waiting. You will make us proud Draco, I know it." Aunt Bellatrix smiled at him and offered her arm. Draco hesitated, then took it. He had always known this was his destiny, even if it had arrived sooner than he had expected.

* * *

Draco had experienced sidealong Apparition a couple of times before in his life. The unpleasant squeezing sensation was familiar, but he did not remember the knot in his insides being as tight as it was now. Where they were, he did not know, although he supposed he must be miles away from Wiltshire and home, where his friends were drinking and laughing and dancing, little realizing that their host had been spirited away to join the ranks of the Death Eaters. It was utterly dark now, but from the scents and sounds around him, Draco guessed that they were in a wood. He could hear the whisper of robes not too far off, although he could not see anything. He felt Bellatrix's arm push him forwards and guide him around a large laurel that had been blocking his view. There, in the clearing, were at least thirty black-cloaked masked forms standing in a circle around a low blue fire. And there, slightly set apart from the rest, at the end furthest from him, Draco saw a tall, skeletal figure whose power was evident in its very presence. Him.

"You may approach." A high, cold voice. Draco dreaded to think what it would sound like when the Dark Lord was displeased, but tried not to think about this as he crept slowly forwards.

"You have been summoned because your father has failed. I wish you to take his place and do what he could not. The task will be difficult, but you will have help from some of my more experienced followers. However, I require absolute dedication from you, as from all my servants. Would you lay down your life for me?"

"Of course, my Lord," Draco bowed low, not daring to look at the figure towering above him.

The Dark Lord's unforgiving voice again: "Your left arm."

Sick with dread at what was coming next Draco slowly proffered his forearm. The long, bony fingers of Dark Lord hand stretched around it, and Draco felt a sudden urge to look upwards into his face. As his grey eyes met the Dark Lord's red ones, he understood his power; no compassion, no mercy. He was still transfixed by the Dark Lord's gaze as he sensed rather than saw the wand move towards his arm. And then…it was a white-hot searing pain that ignited the very nerves of his body and rocketed to the ends of his fingers, through his kneecaps to his toes. His eyes felt as though they were burning in the rotten sockets of his skull, and his teeth and bones seemed ready to reject the rest of his body. Then, slowly, he noticed that this unendurable, all-consuming pain had started to fade, retreating onto his left forearm.

"And so we welcome another Death Eater to our ranks."

That was it. He looked at his arm; the skin seemed to take on a silvery glow in the darkness contrast to the stark black of his newly burned Mark. As he gazed at it, slowly reaching out a fingertip to touch it in spite of the pain, just to make sure it was real, was part of him, he sensed a figure approaching behind him. He looked round; Aunt Bellatix was there, watching him fondly.

"You have made me proud, Draco, as I knew you would. I'll pop you back home to your little friends now."

* * *

Draco edged out from behind the tapestry, hoping that no one would see him. He sat for a moment on a mahogany trunk in the main upstairs corridor, feeling dizzy and weak. He did not know how much time had passed, but unbelievably he could still hear music and laughter coming from downstairs, and the occasional drunken yell. The people down there belonged to another world, one he would never know again. He had adult responsibilities now, and even though many people at the party were of age, compared to him they were still children. Draco took a deep breath and decided to venture out. After all, the cake presumably had not yet been cut, and he didn't want people asking him why the floating five tiered cake he had been boasting about all term had never materialised. Draco tried to tell himself that this was because he didn't want people thinking that he was poor and a miserable show-off, but he knew that he could not bear to be reminded of what had just happened. He would have to rejoin his friends, as distanced as he now felt from them, and act as though he had simply slipped out for some fresh air.

Draco straightened his robes in front of the hall mirror, and then padded softly down the corridor. Theodore was on the landing, leaning on the rail, sipping at a glowing green glass of absinthe and watching the people below dancing, talking and laughing amid the silver stars which were now falling much more sparsely than they had been at the beginning of the evening. He turned around as Draco approached.

"Where have you been? Pansy's looking for you." Then he registered Draco's white face. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," Draco said quickly, grabbing his sore wrist without thinking. Theodore's eyes widened. They stared silently at each other for a few awful moments, until Theodore finally spoke.

"I'm sorry, Draco. When did it happen?"

"When did what happen?"

"Come on. You've been Marked."

"Don't be silly."

"You have, I know it."

"How did you know?"

"I was waiting for this to happen to one of us."

Draco felt smug. Despite Theodore's scholastic aptitude and his magical ability, it was Draco, not Theodore, that the Dark Lord had chosen.

"I'm sure he had his reasons for choosing me over you."

Theodore raised an eyebrow.

"Don't pretend you're not jealous that the Dark Lord thought that I was more worthy." Draco was irritated.

"You wanted this? You really wanted this?"

"Of course I did!" snapped Draco, more to convince himself than anything. "I wouldn't worry about it though, I'm sure the Order of the Phoenix will have you," he scoffed.

"When you've quite finished," said Theodore coldly. "I clearly overestimated you. I am proud of who I am, and I am proud of my wizarding heritage. But I know what death is. I would not kill for my beliefs, and I certainly wouldn't die for them."

Draco felt a creeping sense of unease. But this was very like Theodore, who had always made Draco feel unsure of himself at his most intense moments of triumph and pride. They had known each other for years, before Hogwarts even, so long that Draco did not refer to Theodore by his surname as he did his other housemates, but their friendship, if you could call it that, had never been a simple one. Theodore was probably enjoying every second of this, watching Draco's face for any sign that he had bothered him, trying to make him regret what he had so recently yet so irrevocably done.

"I'm going downstairs. We need to cut the cake." Draco announced loudly after a short, uncomfortable pause. He strode confidently away, although he could almost feel Theodore's sorrowful stare following him.

Downstairs, he found a house elf and was ordering her to have the rest of the elves send out the cake out as quickly as possible when he heard a shriek behind him that could on have come from Pansy.

"Draco, where have you been? I've looked simply everywhere!"

"I…"

"I couldn't find Daphne either. And you thought I wouldn't notice."

"What?"

"What do you mean, 'What?'? You know exactly what I mean, Draco." She glared at him.

"No! It wasn't anything like that, I swear."

"You just happened to both disappear at the same time?" Pansy gave an incredulous laugh.

"I don't know about Daphne, but I…"

"Yes?"

"I can't really tell you right now."

"Oh, that's right," Pansy rolled her eyes contemptuously. "I'm not that stupid, you know."

"But I will tell you, Pansy, you know I could never keep a secret from you. But for now, I want to make the most of the last few moments of my party with you. You look simply breathtaking this evening, and I want you to be right at my side for the cake ceremony."

Mollified, if not completely won over, Pansy accompanied Draco upstairs. Lines of leprechauns stood waving little lanterns, guiding the partygoers back towards the foyer to a tremendous fanfare. Crabbe, Goyle, his Quidditch friends, they were all there. Pansy's rage was quickly forgotten when Daphne resurfaced, entwined with Montague. Draco even saw Theodore slinking down the stairs to join the rest of the crowd. The lights dimmed, and the band once more began to play. His friends all gathered around as the most magnificent birthday cake floated into the hall. Its five floating tiers rotated slowly, showing the intricately piped icing design of prancing dragons and the sixteen green candles with pink fizzing, sparkling flames. They all started to sing.

* * *

_A few explanatory notes: _

_Banter; noun. The arcane language of the public (i.e. private, usually boarding) schoolboy, consisting of pseudo-intellectual jibes masquerading as wit. Ever noticed the way Slytherins refer to each other by their surnames? That's part of it. I guarantee you JKR met plenty of bantering Slytherin types at Exeter University. _

_Some people (usually Americans, I think) seem shocked by the amount of alcohol in the books, but it's just normal here. It's hard to tell from 'My SuperSweet Sixteen' how big a role it plays in the parties, but at a British teenage party there is always a lot of alcohol from the age of 14 or so. At sixteen it is still socially acceptable for girls to drink alcopops, hence the Firewhisky Fizzers, but boys must select something a bit more manly. _

_Thanks for reading, if you got this far. Tell me if you liked it : ) _


End file.
